kindergarten rocket science
I am determined never to become one of the many “mommy bloggers” who mistakenly think that complete strangers might care about their children’s naptime, teething, and potty training. However, if I ever have kids (and I hope I do), I’m sure I will be completely unable to resist the temptation to occasionally tell you about the funny or profound things they say.
Meanwhile, here’s a cute story my sister sent me earlier this week about my nephew.
Evan is still reading about making the [cardboard] rocket. He said, “I’ll tell you what we need, Mom. We need 7 figs!” I said, “Fins?” He said, “Well, what does this say?” I looked and it was referring to “fig. 7.” Rocket science meets kindergarten…
25 Things About Me
My friend Angela tagged me in a “25 Things About Me” meme on Facebook, but instead of posting my list on Facebook, I decided to post it here so that my usual blog audience can read it.
1. Over Christmas, my mom gave me the shirt I wore when I played intramural volleyball in 9th and 10th grade. I tried it on recently… and it still fits.
2. When I got my driver’s license, I took my driving test in a Mustang.
3. I’m actually looking forward to turning 30 this year.
4. I’ve slept under the same quilt since 1996. I think it’s time for a change.
5. I can’t care about everything.
6. I have OpenOffice on my computer at home instead of Micro$oft Office.
7. I live in a town that is sandwiched between a National Park and a National Forest. I like that.
8. I never use spell-check. I’m a living, breathing spell-checker.
9. I often start grieving things long before I’ve actually lost them (or left them).
10. My passport expired last April, and I didn’t renew it… so don’t invite me to go on any spontaneous international trips, OK?
11. I recently began to wonder if my love of black and white photos was subconsciously inspired by the hours I’ve spent at the piano.
12. I’ve always wanted an interesting “how we met” story… and may or may not be at the beginning of it right now.
13. If I could relive any vacation, it would be the one from summer 2007: Seattle and Olympic National Park in Washington, and Victoria and Vancouver in British Columbia.
14. I have never been so violently ill as I was during an extended layover in Vienna. I strongly suspect I had food poisoning.
15. I’m allergic to penicillin.
16. My favorite times to see displayed on a digital clock are 11:11, 12:34, and 8:24.
17. The upcoming transition from analog to digital TV broadcasting won’t affect me in the foreseeable future, because I never watch TV at home.
18. I never know what to say when people ask me what kind of music I like.
19. However… country music is the only thing I listen to when I drive, and that’s the only time I listen to it. (Does that make them mutually INclusive??)
20. 2008 was the first year I voted in a presidential election.
21. I will also remember 2008 as the year that I joined a food co-op, stuck not just one but TWO political signs in my front yard (neither were for a presidential candidate), and put a bumper sticker on my car (not political). Who is this woman I am becoming??
22. I’d like to have kids someday, but I’m already dreading the day I have to start driving a mini-van.
23. I will always remember Matt Garber when I sing or play the song “Come, Bring Your Burdens to God.” I chose to play it as the gathering music for a service of grieving and remembering just a few hours after learning that he had drowned. Every once in a while I sit down at my piano at home, play the song over and over, and cry.
24. I was slightly pigeon-toed until I overheard a classmate make a comment about it when I was in middle school. I didn’t tell anyone, but from then on I made a conscious effort to walk with my feet straight. I felt like a duck at first, but before long I had successfully changed the natural tendency of my feet/ankles.
25. I may be biased, but I think the Maryland state flag is the best one in the country. See how wild and crazy it is?
God bless Mike and Ronnie
It wasn’t my fault. It also wasn’t the first time this had happened.
As soon as I heard the furnace cut off, I knew exactly what I would find when I walked down to the basement, opened the back door, and took a look at the fuel tank.
Yep. We all know what it means when the little red triangle is pointing to the LEFT of the little black triangle. That sucker was bone dry.
::
8:41 p.m. — I pick up the phone and place a call.
“Rockingham Petroleum Answering Service.”
“Hi. This is Rachel [CENSORED]. I’m a residential fuel oil customer, and my account is set up for automatic fill, but the tank is empty.”
After asking for my address, phone number, and tank size, she asked, “Do you want them to deliver it tonight?”
“No, that’s fine. They can wait ’til Monday. I like being cold.”
OK, just kidding. That’s not what I said. “Yes, please,” I replied.
“We’ll have someone give you a call. Thank you.”
And that was that. If I had known it would be almost an hour ’til the fuel truck pulled up to the curb, I definitely would have baked some of my frozen chocolate chip cookie dough. Why? Because I worked for three years in a position that required me to be on call, and I know that nobody wants to leave their cozy house on a Friday night in January to go solve a problem that isn’t their fault. God bless Ronnie.
::
10:09 p.m. — I pick up the phone and dial a now-familiar number.
“Rockingham Petroleum Answering Service.”
“Hi. This is Rachel [CENSORED] calling again. My account is set up for automatic fill, but the fuel tank got empty, so a driver just came out and filled the tank. He wasn’t able to get the furnace re-started, though, so he told me to call in and ask you to send out a service person tonight to bleed the line.”
Yay. What a fun Friday night. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, postponed my Skype date with my sister, and flopped down on the couch with an interesting book that is due back at the library tomorrow. It’s a good thing I wasn’t out late this evening, because I don’t enjoy being cold and I have plans for tomorrow that do not include waiting for strangers to ring my doorbell.
::
10:52 p.m. — The doorbell finally rings, and I reluctantly shed my blanket. My house is a chilly 62 degrees.
::
10:58 p.m. — The furnace roars to life. God bless Mike.
when Rachel became a big sister
I recently saw a picture of a friend’s niece holding her new baby brother, which reminded me of a similar picture taken in 1983. This may have been the last time I held my sister on my lap while she bawled her head off.
I wish I knew which of these pictures was taken first. Not only was I thrilled to be a big sister, but I may have also been glad to have that squawking baby off my lap! (Love you, Phoebe!)
And that, my friends, is classic 4-year-old Rachel. 
chestnuts roasting on an open fire
I seem to have gotten stuck in December. As the aroma of turkey roasting in the oven wafted through the house this evening, I put on a Frank Sinatra Christmas CD and roasted chestnuts over an open fire. I even plugged in the white lights on the mantle above the fireplace and sucked on a candy cane, just for effect. If you think I’m joking, guess again. The only thing missing was Nat King Cole himself.
Unfortunately, the chestnuts didn’t turn out too hot. Well, they were hot to touch, of course, but not exactly tasty. Actually, they were downright awful. There are a variety of factors in the process that I might have gotten completely wrong, and since I have absolutely zero experience with successful chestnut roasting, I probably shouldn’t try again ’til I find a coach. Meanwhile, it should be noted that the song title is NOT “Chestnuts Roasting Over Fake Blue Natural Gas Flames.”
too much or not enough?
Is there ever a situation in which not having enough of something is better than having too much of that same thing? I’ve been kicking that question around in my brain for a long time, and I haven’t yet come up with a ‘yes’ answer. Even when I consider things like water and time, it seems that having too much is always better than not having enough.
Thoughts?
love is a chewy chocolate chip cookie
It may be a bit premature to announce this publicly, but I think my long-time quest has come to an end… or at least reached a new level. After years of searching and waiting, my dream has come true, and it’s just as amazing as I had always hoped. I keep thinking that the excitement will wear off soon, but it’s been almost two weeks now. Yes, my friends, Rachel has finally found the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe. (And to think we met on the internet!)
I’ve never really liked those little “Love is…” comics (why must the children be naked?), but if I were going to hijack the comic for a day, I would have to say that love is a warm, chewy chocolate chip cookie. Unfortunately, I am neither an aspiring food blogger nor an aspiring food photographer, so the post you’re currently reading contains one recipe from Food Network and exactly zero photos.
Thanks to Alton Brown, I can stop looking for the perfect recipe for a soft, chewy chocolate chip cookie. Here is his recipe for…
2 sticks unsalted butter
2 1/4 c. bread flour
1 t. kosher salt
1 t. baking soda
1/4 c. sugar
1 1/4 c. brown sugar
1 egg
1 egg yolk
2 T. milk
1 1/2 t. vanilla extract
2 c. semisweet chocolate chips
Melt the butter in a heavy-bottom medium saucepan over low heat. Sift together the flour, salt, and baking soda and set aside.
Pour the melted butter in the mixer’s work bowl. Add the sugar and brown sugar. Cream the butter and sugars on medium speed. Add the egg, yolk, 2 tablespoons milk and vanilla extract and mix until well combined. Slowly incorporate the flour mixture until thoroughly combined. Stir in the chocolate chips.
Chill the dough, then scoop onto parchment-lined baking sheets, 6 cookies per sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 14 minutes or until golden brown, checking the cookies after 5 minutes. Rotate the baking sheet for even browning. Cool completely and store in an airtight container.
Yield: 2 1/2 dozen if you’re Alton Brown… or 6 1/2 dozen if you’re me.
[Rachel’s Notes: I chilled the dough, formed it into balls, and froze it. After baking something else, I can put a few balls of frozen cookie dough on a sheet and bake them for about 9 minutes. Life doesn't get much better than this.]
cannot find love.
Unless I’m writing a very short email, I almost always compose my message in Notepad first so I don’t risk either losing it or sending it prematurely. Tonight I was writing an email to someone (OK, I’ll be honest — it was a boy), but before I copied the message over to my email to actually send it, I put on my editor hat. I have a tendency to overuse the word “love” when describing things I’m enthused about, so I wanted to make sure I hadn’t used the word too much in one email. I hit CTRL-F (the ‘Find’ shortcut) and typed the word ‘love.’
After finding the last instance of the word, a message popped up.
I snorted. Thanks for rubbing it in, Microsoft.
Western Spaghetti
Need to put dinner on the table and don’t have any food in the house, much less 30 minutes to prepare it? Move over, Rachael Ray. This clever, stop-motion animated short film will show you how to “cook” spaghetti with tomato sauce using common household objects as ingredients.
Bon appetit!
dancin’ and singin’ in the rain
I’ve discovered an unexpected side effect of my New Year’s resolution for 2009: I will have showtunes stuck in my head for the next twelve months. Not that this is really a problem, but a little while ago I was waltzing around the house singing “Good mornin’, good mornin’!” — and it is definitely NOT morning.
Good Mornin’. Good Mornin’.
We’ve talked the whole night through.
Good Mornin’. Good Mornin’ to you.
Good Mornin’. Good Mornin’.
It’s great to stay up late.
Good Mornin’. Good Mornin’ to you.
I tend to be a night owl, so I would usually agree that “it’s great to stay up late,” but I’ve seen the beginning of a few too many mornings recently. It’s only great to stay up late when you don’t have to work the next morning. Or when you’ve been gabbing and dancing with Gene Kelly, I suppose.
When I told you that I was waltzing around the house, I didn’t mean that literally, of course. I was actually tap dancing. For real. I’m no Fred Astaire or Ruby Keeler, but I own a pair of tap shoes and I ain’t afraid to use ‘em. I am, however, afraid that someone will think this means I’d like to show off my skills in my own living room. I assure you that I would not. My last performance was six years ago, and I’m a bit rusty. If you want to see me up on stage again, you’re going to have to convince me to say ‘no’ to more things so I can say ‘yes’ to tap lessons next fall.
“Off we’re gonna shuffle, shuffle off to Buffalo…”
